Giving Up the Ghost
by DashaD
Summary: "It's like Jane's a ghost; he's not really here, but he never goes away either." Set during "My Blue Heaven." Lisbon and Grace have a real conversation, you know, like actual friends.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello! I've been away from the fanfiction world for a while, both reading and writing. Real life got complicated- in mostly positive ways- but I'm here to dip my toe back into the water. Not a full-fledged story, just a little something I would have liked to have seen.**

 **I was always a little annoyed with the Lisbon we saw in "My Blue Heaven". The way she was written, practically sleeping with Jane's letters under her pillow while he was out dancing the night away with Fischer, didn't sit quite right. This is me reimagining things a bit.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Part 1 (of 2)**

It was supposed to be a simple evening. It had certainly started out innocuously enough.

Rigsby and Van Pelt had driven up to Cannon River after meeting with clients in Seattle. The three of them had done a little reminiscing, the couple shared stories about their business and, of course the latest pictures of baby Maddie, at which Lisbon had oohed and aahed with sincere appreciation.

But then Wayne had offered to run out and pick up a pizza (for old time's sake) leaving the two women alone to get a head start on a bottle of cabernet and continue catching up. They settled into the plush armchairs in front of Lisbon's fireplace, and now two (or was it three?) glasses in, the conversation had a taken a turn. Lisbon was on the receiving end of Grace's steely, determined gaze.

 _Damn, she was good._ Two years away from the CBI and her interrogation skills were still on point.

It all began with that damn picture.

It had gone unnoticed during the initial tour of the house, but when the two friends returned to the kitchen to refill their glasses, Grace's eyes zeroed in on it with laser-like focus.

"Oh, is this him?" she asked, pointing to the photo on the refrigerator door a wide grin spreading across her face. She leaned in to take a closer look at the snapshot of her former boss standing in front of a rock face, paying particular attention to the handsome, sandy-haired man in plaid flannel with his arm slung casually over Lisbon's shoulder.

" _Yes_." Lisbon replied with a smirk of her own. She had mentioned Andrew to Grace on the phone a few times. She had only been seeing him for a few months, so it wasn't serious by any stretch. In fact she'd only put the picture up because he had recently given it to her and she knew his feelings would be hurt if she didn't. But now as she glanced at the photo she realized how comfortable they appeared together in it, how settled. _That_ was a little disconcerting.

"He's cute," Grace's smile broke out into a chuckle. "And he must be charming as hell to turn you into 'nature girl' here. Are you actually out in the _woods_?"

Lisbon rolled her eyes before draining her glass and uncorking the bottle to refill it. "Hey, climbing's a great way to stay in shape, especially since I spend most days stuck behind a desk shuffling papers," she answered wryly.

Grace held out her glass. "So, tell me more about this guy. What's he like?"

Lisbon topped off both glasses and considered. She had never actually described Andrew out loud to anyone before; she didn't really have to in a town where everyone knew everyone.

"He's a good guy," she shrugged. "Funny, smart-"

"Sexy?" Grace interjected with a smirk.

"Yes!" Lisbon answered on a nervous laugh then narrowed her eyes at her friend's cheekiness as the two made their back to the living room. She set the bottle on the coffee table, then plopped back down into her chair. "I don't know… he's just really straightforward, 'salt of the earth' type. It's nice."

Not exactly the most ringing endorsement, she conceded silently to herself, but it was certainly true.

Grace quirked her lips and nodded. "Well, he sounds great- and you sure look happy. You deserve it too, especially after all the grief Jane gave you over the years."

 _Well, that escalated quickly._

"Jane? she sputtered, feeling her cheeks grow hot. "Why would you bring him up? You know he and I were never involved."

"Well, not _technically_ -"

"Technically or otherwise!" Lisbon shot back. _Okay, that came out little more defensive than it needed to_.

"I know," Grace replied, her voice and expression softening at Lisbon's obvious discomfort. "But the two of you were so close, for so long. It was pretty obvious how much you meant to one another. And you always had his back, even though I know there were _plenty_ of times he didn't deserve it."

Lisbon met her friend's sympathetic gaze and felt her embarrassment fade, albeit only slightly. It had gone unspoken for nearly a decade, but none of what Grace was saying was exactly news to either of them. For years Van Pelt had had a front row seat to the emotional upheaval Jane had wreaked in her life. She had probably been dying to broach this subject for ages. The boss-subordinate relationship had always precluded it, but now there was nothing to hold her back.

"You were the most important person in his life, you know." Grace's tone was emphatic and matter of fact. But as touching as her assertion was, Lisbon couldn't help but openly scoff.

"Well, not the _most_ important. You and I both know there was always someone else first and foremost in Patrick Jane's mind." She was grateful that she didn't have to say the name out loud. She'd be more than happy to never have to speak- much less think about- the words _Red John_ ever again.

Grace frowned. "Maybe- but, I also know that even though he may never have been able to act on it or say the words out loud… I _know_ that he loved you."

Lisbon fought to keep her expression neutral. If only Grace knew he _had_ spoken the words years ago, only to all but take them back the next day. He probably didn't even mean them when he said them in the first place- or he had he? God, even after all this time she still couldn't make heads or tails of the man.

Grace leaned forward and propped her elbow on the arm of the chair. "So, what about you?" she asked lightly.

Lisbon furrowed her brow. As if feigning confusion would quell her friend's curiosity.

"Did you love him, too?" Grace's voice was steady, with a serene but decidedly impish expression on her face. "Come on, boss. You can tell me."

" _I_ am not your boss anymore," Lisbon replied before taking a sip from her drink, an admittedly lame attempt at dodging the question.

"Which is _exactly_ why we can talk about this now," Grace countered swiftly. "We're friends. This is the kind of thing girlfriends sit around and talk about."

Lisbon suppressed a groan. _Couldn't they just French braid each other's hair or go get their legs waxed or something?_

She cast her eyes down towards the glass in her hand, tracing the length of its stem with her forefinger. She quickly brought it to her lips and drained its contents.

Maybe saying it out loud wouldn't be so terrible. It wasn't as if she had anyone else in her life she could really confide in and share secrets with. Not she was ever inclined to. Besides, she could see Van Pelt was determined to wait her out. Resistance was futile.

She smiled self-consciously, steeling herself with a deep breath.

"Yeah," she answered quietly before looking up. "I… suppose I felt the same way about him."

Grace simply nodded and smiled as she sank back into her seat. Lisbon could tell she was trying not to look _too_ pleased with herself at having just successfully wrangled this admission out of her.

"It must have been really hard for you these last few years," she said after a moment. "Having Jane just disappear off the map like he did; not knowing where he is or how he's doing." She paused again then her voice brightened. "You know, sometimes Wayne and I imagine where he might have ended up. I like to picture him trekking up some mountain in Tibet or walking along the streets of Paris-"

"He's… not in Tibet or Paris," Lisbon interjected softly, feeling a mischievous grin spread over her face. Hell, they were already down the rabbit hole, so why not? She met her friend's widening eyes.

"He's been writing to me. I get a letter from him every week."

Grace's hand went to her mouth. "Oh my god, are you kidding me? All this time?"

Lisbon snorted a laugh, which Van Pelt echoed.

"Where is he? _How_ is he?"

Lisbon leaned back and shook her head. "The _where_ part I can't say for sure. He's always careful not to include any details that would give that away… but I know it's someplace warm, near the ocean. I'm guessing somewhere in Central or South America." She chuckled. "He writes about diving off cliffs and swimming with dolphins."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." Lisbon smiled wistfully, remembering the day she received that particular letter. The image of Jane the beach bum was just too bizarre to comprehend compared with the buttoned-up, three-piece- suit version of the man she had always known.

"So, he's okay… and sounds… _happy_?"

Lisbon could hear the hope and disbelief in Grace's voice. It _was_ a little hard to imagine- the idea of Jane living out some carefree, idyllic existence after the one he had had for the previous decade.

The letters themselves provided little insight into how he was _really_ doing; he was as enigmatic as ever. His writing usually struck a breezy, conversational tone. He'd share anecdotes about his neighbors or descriptions of the weather and changing seasons. There were times he seemed a bit more somber and reflective; he'd apologize for past indiscretions or express regret for the way things had turned out for everyone. Some of his letters were surprisingly heartfelt, bordering on sentimental, and yet they were never truly intimate. Even from thousands of miles away, he still held her at arm's length.

Lisbon frowned and shrugged. "It's hard to say. You know Jane. He only shows what he wants to you to see." She breathed in deeply. "But I think he's at least….content and a little more a peace with everything that's happened….maybe he's even found some way to forgive himself."

"I hope so," Grace answered, her voice barely above a whisper.

The two sat for a minute, then Grace's wide, ready grin returned. "Wow. You and Jane… pen pals."

Lisbon buried her face in her hand. She suddenly wished she had confided in Grace earlier. "I'm sorry. I should have told you before-"

"No, it's okay. I understand- and I'm not really that surprised. In fact, I think my husband owes me twenty bucks."

The two laughed.

"Of course he's been writing to you. How could he not?"

Lisbon shook her head and shrugged, suddenly self-conscious again. She leaned forward to refill their glasses. "He knew I'd be worried if he didn't get in touch somehow. Plus, I get the feeling he's kind of lonely, doesn't really have any close friends he can talk to-"

"Oh, stop. If Jane were just lonesome or looking for a way to pass the time, he'd be writing to Wayne and me… or sending postcards to Cho at Quantico." The two shared a laugh then Grace continued her expression earnest once again. "No, Jane's writing to you, because… well, you've _always_ been a lifeline for him. It sounds like you still are."

Lisbon could feel her eyes become thick with tears, which she blinked away determinedly.

"It's meant a lot to me…" she began after a moment, "getting those letters every week. To know he's safe, that he made it through that whole nightmare alive and unscathed, even though I know most days he didn't seem to care whether or not he survived it at all…" She smiled sadly. "I'll always be grateful that he wrote to me for as long as he did."

"Why do you say that?" Grace looked at her quizzically. "You're talking like he's just going to fall out of touch or stop writing all of a sudden."

"He will," Lisbon spoke with absolute certainty as she shifted and straightened herself up. "One of these days- sooner rather than later, I suspect- those letters are going to stop coming. And I'm prepared for that."

Now Grace looked positively alarmed. "What's going on, Lisbon? What's happened?"

Lisbon grimaced, her voice strained. "Dennis Abbott is what happened."

 **Part 2 coming soon… let me know your thoughts!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Here is the conclusion of Grace and Lisbon's conversation. As some reviewers noted, the friendship between the two is noticeably closer than the one we saw in "My Blue Heaven". For the purposes of this story, I imagined this having developed gradually over the course of the two years Jane was gone.** **So, perhaps that makes this slightly AU?** **That being said, I see this story as being canon-friendly, too, with everything that came afterwards.**

 **Thanks for all the supportive words and reviews! It's felt wonderful to be welcomed back into the fold.** **I really had no idea what kind of response to expect for a tag to an episode that aired almost three years ago (!).** **It's been great to engage in conversation with other fans who are just as passionate as ever about this show.**

 **Part 2**

"Abbott? From the FBI?"

"Yep," Lisbon nodded curtly. "He came to see me a few weeks ago."

"Here?"

"Showed up at my office," she answered drolly. "We did our usual dance, the one we do whenever he calls to check up on me. He asked his questions, and I lied through my teeth like I always do."

"Of course," Grace said matter-of-factly then grinned. "Some things never change." Lisbon watched her friend's face fall, her smile disappearing as quickly as it had come.

"But you think Abbott knows where Jane is?"

Lisbon nodded again. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure he does. A little while back, I missed a letter from Jane. He writes to me every week, like clockwork, and then one week- nothing." She gave a small shrug. "It seemed a little strange; I tried not to read too much into it. But when his next letter came like normal, with no mention or explanation about the week before, I knew something was up."

"So you think the FBI intercepted the letter, used to it track Jane down?" Grace said gravely.

"I'm almost positive, yeah. It was only a couple of days later Abbott arrived here, looking _far_ too pleased with himself." She rolled her eyes in annoyance. "As soon as I saw that smug face of his, I knew. He didn't come right out and say it, but he's got Jane in his sights… and I think he wanted me to know that."

"So, what do you think he's planning?"

Lisbon took another drink from her glass and scowled in frustration. "I wish I knew. But he is _not_ going to let Jane slip through his fingers again. For all I know he's on his way to confront Jane right now, maybe even trying to drag him back here, kicking and screaming-"

"Well, there's no way that's happening." Grace interjected. "If Jane's hiding out where you think he is, there are at least half a dozen countries in that part of the world that wouldn't extradite him. He's safe."

"I know he is," Lisbon replied quietly.

"And if what you're saying is true, then he probably _will_ stop writing, at least for a while until the heat's off- but he won't stay away forever." Grace smiled warmly. "He'll find his way back to you somehow- even if it is just through the mail."

Lisbon knew her friend's words were meant to be reassuring. Grace was, after all, an idealist. She had found happiness, despite the circumstances that had kept her and Rigsby apart all those years. So, it wasn't surprising she might harbor some romantic fantasy of her and Jane carrying on some lifelong, clandestine correspondence, like stock characters in some hackneyed romantic drama. But Lisbon didn't have any such illusions. She hadn't had the luxury of growing up on a diet of fairy tales and romantic comedies. She was, and always had been, a realist.

"Well, that's the problem, Grace," Lisbon began tightly. "Jane isn't _coming_ back; he's _gone_ \- for good."

Seeing Grace's pained expression, she softened her tone. "And that's _okay_. I made peace with it a long time ago… and I'm glad Jane ran, because running was the only chance he had- to move forward, to have any kind of shot at a real life after all those years without one."

Lisbon stopped and swallowed hard, her voice on the verge of breaking. She couldn't believe she was still talking-everything she had kept bottled up inside for the last two years was now spilling out of her. But she didn't want to stop; the floodgates were open, and she felt something akin to relief.

"That day," she spoke haltingly, "when the moment came- with McCallister... Jane chose _life_." Or at least, she hoped he had. Jane had never written about that final confrontation with his nemesis, but Lisbon wanted to believe he had made to the conscious choice to survive it. That he had deemed himself worthy of survival.

"And I thank God every day that he did," she rolled her eyes and laughed in spite herself. "Because it's all I ever wanted the idiot to do. He _lived_ , in spite of every stupid, self-destructive decision I watched him make over the years."

Grace smiled back through unshed tears of her own.

"Well, it looks like he finally listened to you."

"Maybe," Lisbon nodded.

"You know when Jane took off- the first time," Grace began cautiously after a moment, "went to Vegas for all those months and we didn't know where he was? You put on a brave face, but I saw what that did to you, being cut off from him like that. I don't want you to have to go through that again."

"That was different," Lisbon shrugged with a shake of her head. "Back then I thought Jane was in trouble, needed my help, but that's not the case anymore. I don't have to worry about him or try to take care of him now. He's going be fine… _I'll_ be fine. Besides, maybe some time apart, without any contact, would be a _good_ thing. Maybe it's exactly what I need right now."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because getting those letters every week-" Lisbon inhaled deeply. "As much as they've meant to me, Grace, they keep me tethered to him. He's right there, all the time. It's like he's a ghost; he's not really _here_ , but he never goes away either. I feel like I need let go of all that, of _him_ , for at least a while. It might help me take stock, you know? Get a little perspective on things."

"Like what things?"

"My life," Lisbon answered dryly. "Because it isn't back at the CBI anymore- and it sure as hell isn't on a beach halfway around the world. I need to focus on what's here, right now. Because it's… good. At least it's got the potential to be."

Lisbon knew Grace would assume she was referring to Andrew, but of course it wasn't just about him.

It was the job that still felt like a giant leap backwards and bored her to tears most of the time. No matter how much she tried to convince herself she was still doing good in the world, deep down she knew it would never match the thrill and satisfaction of working actual cases with the team that had been like family to her.

It was the fact that she had been in Cannon River for over a year and half, and she still felt like an outsider. She made obligatory appearances at all the Fourth of July picnics and potlucks in the church basement. The people were friendly enough, welcoming even; but everyone saw her as Chief Lisbon, and out of habit she had kept her usual walls up.

Without the sixty hour-work weeks she had been accustomed to, she had begun to feel restless and uncharacteristically lonely with so much time to fill. Meeting Andrew had become something of a tonic for this. He was a recent transplant himself, having moved to town just a few months before she had. He had an open, easygoing temperament, and despite this difference in their personalities, he seemed accepting of her more guarded, reserved nature. It was still early in their relationship and he allowed her to set the pace, keeping things light and casual. (If he had any ideas about their long-term prospects, he wisely kept them to himself.) But, she knew things couldn't continue this way indefinitely. And, she genuinely liked the guy, could see that he was the type of person- maybe even _the_ person- she could fall in love with someday if she ever allowed herself to.

But therein lay the problem. She _wasn't_ moving forward, at least not completely. It would have been easy to put the blame solely on Jane and his letters, but she knew she needed to take responsibility for herself and her general ambivalence. So far she hadn't.

Perhaps begin cut off from Jane- even if it was just temporary- would force her to get to the root of whatever was holding her back and help her figure what she really wanted. The life she was living in Cannon River wasn't the one she ever imagined or planned for herself; but it was the life that she _had_. It was time to get on with it.

Before either she or Grace could say anything more, the sound of approaching footsteps on the front porch and the _swish_ of the front door opening signaled Rigsby's return. He entered the house and toed off his shoes in the entryway, expertly balancing the pizza box in one hand.

"Sorry that took so long. That place was a madhouse." He came into the living room and set the box down on the coffee table.

"I should have known it'd be like that, Wayne, I'm sorry" Lisbon apologized. "It's Friday night and they're the only decent pizza in town."

Rigby shrugged his shoulders good-naturedly. "Ah, it was no problem. They gave me a free order of cheese bread while I waited," he added with a wink. He noticed the empty wine bottle next to the box and nodded towards it with raised eyebrows. "Well, it looks like you two have been busy. Did I miss anything good?"

"No," Grace shook her head innocently, smiling sweetly up at her husband. "We were just talking." Satisfied, Wayne headed to the kitchen to fetch plates and napkins, and once he was gone Grace cast a knowing look over at Lisbon, whose eyes went to the now empty glass in her hand.

x

Over an hour later, the last slice of pepperoni had been eaten. Rigbsy excused himself to the front porch to call and check in with the babysitter while Grace brought plates and glasses into the kitchen.

Lisbon pressed _brew_ on the coffeemaker then moved over to the sink where Grace was standing.

"You know, you guys are welcome to spend the night if you want." She began rinsing plates to load into the dishwasher. "Driving over that mountain pass can be a little dicey after dark," she added with concern.

"I wish we could," Grace sighed, "but we've got to get back to the city tonight- early flight in the morning. We appreciate the coffee for the road, though." She crossed her arms in front of herself and leaned up against the counter, lowering her voice even though her husband was well out of earshot.

"I'm glad you and I had a chance… to really talk."

"Me, too," Lisbon nodded back shyly. After Rigbsy had returned, the conversation over dinner had covered a variety of (safe) topics- the thrilling day to days of Lisbon's job as small town police chief, the house Wayne and Grace were hoping to buy in San Francisco. Lisbon had- with Grace's unspoken help- avoided bringing up the CBI or Jane. But, she knew Grace was probably itching to share the news with her husband- and probably would do so the moment they reached their car.

"You can tell Wayne, you know," Lisbon said quietly after a moment, "what we talked about earlier." She looked up from the plate she was scrubbing, adding quickly, "I mean, you don't have to get into _all_ the details- just enough to collect that twenty dollars he owes you."

Grace laughed. "Sure, I'll just give him the barebones version." Sensing Lisbon's discomfort at the prospect of discussing Jane any further, she mercifully changed the subject. "So, where is that thermos of yours?"

"Top shelf, cupboard above the stove, I think." Lisbon replied as she placed the last dish onto the rack and watched out of the corner of her eye as Grace went to the cabinet and opened the top right door. _Shit._

"Not that one!" she exclaimed abruptly. "It's- the next one over," she added, trying to sound more casual, motioning to the adjacent cupboard.

"O-kay," Grace looked slightly perplexed at the change in Lisbon's tone as she shifted over and retrieved the thermos from the proper shelf.

While Grace's back was still turned Lisbon grimaced to herself. _Nice save, there, Teresa. Real cool._

After saying their goodbyes a few minutes later, Lisbon returned to the kitchen and made a beeline for the cupboard above the stove. She raised herself up on the balls of her feet and opened the door, feeling around a second or two before her hand landed on the offending object Grace had so nearly discovered. She grasped and held it carefully in her hand as she lowered herself back down.

She looked down at the small turquoise cup and traced its hairline fractures with the tips of her fingers, her mind flashing back to the day it had been unceremoniously broken when Abbott and his crew had steamrolled into the CBI bullpen. She cringed a bit, remembering the foolishness she felt (and still felt) collecting the pieces and squirreling them away; the hours she had spent painstakingly gluing them back together, only to stash the cup away in a cupboard- first in her apartment in Sacramento and now here.

She never drank from it. She hadn't laid eyes on it in months. There was no logical reason to keep it. But, for all her big talk about letting go and moving on, she couldn't quite stomach the idea of just throwing it out. Maybe she'd be able to at some point, but not today. Still, she had to do something. Sentimentality and inertia had been her frustrating companions for far too long.

Cup and saucer in hand, she made her way to the living room and grabbed the box containing Jane's letters from its perch on the bookcase next to her fireplace. She lifted the lid and set the cup on top of the stack, tucking the saucer onto its side next to the pile. She replaced the lid firmly and held the box in her hands for a moment with a frown. For over a year she had had this thing up on the shelf, like some offering on an altar or relic in a shrine. (All that was missing were some votive candles and a picture of him in a gilded frame.) But, not anymore; she knew what she had to do.

There was a giant box in the crawlspace of her garage, one she had never managed to unpack in all the times she had moved. It was filled with an odd collection of miscellaneous things she had held onto over the years: her high school yearbook, a mix tape her college roommate had made for her; the model of an antique car her grandfather had given her when she graduated. This was where Jane belonged now, too.

Out of sight.

Out of mind.

And if she was lucky, someday soon, out of her heart.


End file.
